


Hello Gorgeous, Love Your Left Hook

by Ishxallxgood



Category: Adam (2009), Charlie Countryman (2013), Hannibal Extended Universe - Fandom, Spacedogs - Fandom
Genre: Adam can't stop talking, Adam overshares a lot, M/M, Nigel has a nosebleed, They just don't shut up, meet cute, some homophobic language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-16
Updated: 2019-06-16
Packaged: 2020-05-13 01:48:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19241362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ishxallxgood/pseuds/Ishxallxgood
Summary: “A is walking through the park at night and notices B following close behind. With every step A is getting more and more paranoid until finally, as B goes to pass A, A swivels on his/her heel and punches B in the face! Turns out, B really was just trying to quicken his/her pace to make it home in time forthe hockey gamemeeting C.”Adam accidentally punches a stranger in the face and finds out that he might just be a little bit gay.Nigel just got punched in the face, and finds out that the perpetrator is just as gorgeous as his left hook.(rated M for language)





	Hello Gorgeous, Love Your Left Hook

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [Hannigram meetcute challenge ](https://fhimechan.tumblr.com/post/185625497897/hannigraham-meet-cute-challenge-summer-came) #186

Adam picked up his pace when he felt the man behind him near. All his life he had lived in crowds. People constantly everywhere. Crowding into his space, pressed against him on the subway, pushing past him in their rush to be on their way.

Los Angeles was distinctively different than New York City. At least the part of Los Angeles that he lived in. Flintridge was a small community, _quiet._ At first it was unnerving. The utter lack of noise. For weeks he couldn’t sleep without the quiet rumble of the city outside his window. But with time, he learned to embrace the quiet nature of the town. It soothed him.

Which brought him back to his current predicament. Los Angeles was a distinctively different place than New York City. People did not crowd his space, because there were no crowds. Space was widely available for everyone to exist comfortably together. There were no subways for people to press against him, and the busses were surprisingly empty. Public transportation was wildly unpopular here, and looked down upon. Adam didn’t mind it though, it meant that nobody really bothered him whenever he took the bus anywhere. No one ever had to push by him to get anywhere, for there was never ever a rush to get anywhere. Everyone seemed to take life leisurely, slowing down to appreciate what was around them. Which was why the sensation of someone following closely behind him unnerved him.

Harlan had warned him about that. About people who might take advantage of him. Pickpockets and muggers, unruly men looking for a fight. It was one of the many reasons why Harlan had insisted he learn to punch _like a man,_ even though Adam would _never_ hit anyone. Nonetheless, Harlan had dragged him to the gym and set him up with a boxing coach. He had spent countless hours working on his jabs, crosses, hooks, and uppercuts, skills he was sure he would never need. Until this moment. He was glad that Harlan had insisted he _learn to punch like a man._

After two more blocks, Adam felt the man close in on him. When he could feel the brush of the man’s hand against his sleeve, he pivoted and swung, landing a perfect left hook against the man’s face. There was a sickening crack and his hand throbbed with pain. It was very different without gloves or headgear, and Adam did not like the feeling at all.

“Oh fuck,” came a muffled voice, and Adam glanced up to see the stranger cradling his nose, hands wet with blood.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” Adam said, frantically searching for something to help stall the flow of blood. “I’ve never hit anyone before.”

“You’ve never hit anyone before?” The beautiful stranger asked, graciously accepting the handkerchief Adam remembered shoving into his bag. “That was one gorgeous left hook for someone who’s never thrown a punch before.”

“Well, I’ve never hit anyone before,” Adam repeated, his hands flexing around the strap of his bag, “but it doesn’t mean I don’t know how to box. My friend Harlan made me learn how to box. He said that every man should know how to throw a proper punch. Even though I insisted that I would never hit anyone. But he made me learn anyway. It was all very uncomfortable at first. I hated the smell of the gym and the way the gloves fit over my hands. The headgear was the worst, it was too tight and restrictive, but Harlan insisted that it was necessary, because it was protective gear. I told him that it was rather unnecessary as I didn’t want to learn how to box to begin with. After a few weeks it was better though. Punching the bag was very relaxing, and I had a very good coach.”

“You sure did, gorgeous.”

Adam frowned, removing his hands from his bag, he cradled his left in his right, flexing it slowly. “My name is Adam. Adam Raki.”

“Well then, _Adam Raki,_ tell your friend Harlan, that he did good with the boxing lessons.”

“Oh, Harlan wasn’t my coach. He was just the one who made me go. My coach’s name was Nick. Nick Scanlon. He operates out of Gotham Gym on Washington Street.”

“Nick Scanlon from Gotham Gym, eh?” the stranger said, wiping the excess blood from his face. “Remind me to send him a gift basket.”

“Why would you send him a gift basket?”

“For doing an exemplary job, of course.”

Adam pursed his lips, wincing as he closed his left hand into a fist again. It was sore, and he was sure it would remain so for a few days. He should ice it, but there was no ice nearby. Hitting someone was not a pleasant experience, and he hoped to never have to do it again. “I don’t understand,” he said, eyes flitting between the bloody handkerchief and the stranger’s swollen nose. The man should probably ice his face too. Punching people at random was rather quite inconvenient. “You want to send my old boxing coach a gift basket for teaching me how to throw a punch that may have broken your nose.”

The man barked out a laugh, nose wheezing along as he did so. “It’s not broken, gorgeous, it would take a lot more than that to break my face.”

“But there's so much blood.”

“There would be a lot more if it were broken, gorgeous.”

“Adam.”

“Excuse me?”

“Adam, my name is Adam. Not gorgeous.”

“I know, you just told me.” The man flashed him a smile. It was a nice smile. Even though his teeth were a little crooked, yellowed, his canines too long and sharp, and the crinkling of his eyes made him look older. Adam found himself smiling back, because he liked the smile. It was kind and warm, and made him feel relaxed. It didn’t make him feel small or uncomfortable. _Mocked._

"Oh, but my name is Adam. And you keep calling me gorgeous."

“I’m just calling it like I see it.”

“Gorgeous?”

The man chuckled, wiping at the sluggish trail of blood that still dripped from his nose. “That you are, just like your left hook.”

Adam stiffened, waiting for the mocking laughter, but none came. There was no malice in the man's eyes, but in his experience, now was when they would start laughing at him. Adam hated it, the anticipation. Not knowing if he was being made fun of or not.

"Are you mocking me?"

"What? Of course not, gor- Adam. Why would you think that?"

"Statistically speaking, I'm being mocked."

The man pursed his lips, and even Adam could read the look of disdain crossing his face. "Statistically speaking?"

Adam sighed, fidgeting with the fingers of his right hand. "I have this thing, Asperger's syndrome. It makes it difficult for me to read social cues. I don’t really interpret facial cues or changes in tone well, and it leads to me to misinterpret their words. For the most part, I just assume that everyone means what they say, and thinks and feels the same way I do. It's called mind blindness, but I've been learning to stop and ask for context. In the past, when I didn’t stop to ask, I have found that the people who were being overly nice to me, saying things that didn't make a whole lot of sense, were just simply mocking me."

"Who are these people and where do they live?"

"What?" Adam asked in confusion, cataloging the man's expression. Despite all his practice, he still wasn't very good with most facial cues. He found that a lot of them were too similar, causing him great confusion, but he knew this one, and it was anger. This man who he barely knew, was angry on his behalf, for things other people have said to him in the past.

"A joke, darling," the man said, his features relaxing into a gentle smile as he tucked a cigarette between his lips and juggled flicking on his lighter and not dropping the bloodied handkerchief. "Although, if you decide you want to indulge me and give me their names and locations, I'd be more than happy to hunt them down and break a few faces for making fun of you."

"That would be unnecessary." Adam's eyes followed the flicker of the flame to the glowing tip of the cigarette as the man inhaled, igniting the tobacco tucked inside tightly rolled paper. "You shouldn't smoke. Smoking is terrible for you. Cigarette smoking harms nearly every organ of your body. Causing anything from cardiovascular diseases such as strokes and coronary heart disease to respiratory diseases, such as the build up and lung cancer. It can also lead to a wealth of other cancers to the bladder, colon and rectum, esophagus, kidney and ureter, larynx, liver, pancreas, stomach, trachea, and not to mention blood in the form of acute myeloid leukemia."

"Worried about my rectum, gorgeous?"

"That and your colon, and quite honestly the rest of your organs too, especially your lungs.  You're most likely going to suffer from respiratory issues first, but I guess it really depends on how your body reacts to the chemicals you're pumping into it via the cigarette."

"Adam, darling, the cigarettes aren't going to fucking kill me."

"They're not?" Adam wrinkled his nose as the man released in a thin line of smoke, even though he made it a point to blow it down wind and away from Adam.

"No, gorgeous, they're not."

"Cigarettes kill though."

"And so do guns," the man said taking another drag of the cigarette. "But if a fucking bullet to the head didn't do me in, I think I'll survive a smoke or two."

Adam's eyes opened wide as he registered what it was the man just said. His eyes darted up, scanning the man's forehead, and there it was. In the middle, just under his hairline, a starburst scar indicative of a gunshot wound. "You were shot in the head?"

"I was also stabbed here," the man said tracing a hand down the left side of his torso. Adam followed the movement of that hand with rapt attention, wondering how large of a wound it must have been for such a wide sweep of his hand. "That one almost did me in, but I was brought back to life by the music of my beautiful Gabi."

"Wow," was all Adam could find to say as he mentally catalogued the man's injuries. Two startling fatal injuries, and yet he still stood before him, smoking a cigarette which Adam was convinced would still probably kill him.

"So you see, darling, the cigarette's not gonna kill me."

"That's not necessarily true," Adam said, frowning. "Your apparent ability to defy fatal injuries doesn’t necessarily mean it’d apply to terminal diseases such as cancer. Wouldn't it be better to decrease your chances of death?"

"Death doesn't scare me, darling."

"It doesn't?"

The man shook his head, finishing off his cigarette before rubbing out the used tobacco and pocketing the filter. "There are things in life that are certainly more terrifying than death."

"Like what?"

"Being alone."

Those two words were spoken in a breathless whisper, and Adam was sure he hadn't meant to voice it at all. But it was said, and he heard it and it was a sentiment he fully understood. He had been terrified of coming out to California, alone. Terrified of having to navigate life alone. He had always had someone there for him; his father, Harlan, and even Beth after his father passed.

However, the last couple of months had taught him that sometimes, being alone, isn’t as terrifying as it seemed. Sure it was scary moving to a new town, but the apartment manager was nice enough, and the grocery store was close enough for him to walk to and they carried Amy's, something familiar. Besides, the people he worked with, they understood him. They gave him his space, and accepted his quirks. They didn’t mind it when he rambled about space, in fact they even encouraged it, although the fact that they all worked at an observatory probably had a lot to do with that. And the best part was probably the fact that unlike Mr. Klieber, his current boss, Mr. Gendry, actually appreciated the work he was doing. That and Harlan had ensured that Adam was equipped with the skills necessary to defend himself in case he needed to, thanks to Nick Scanlon.

“It helps if you had a good boxing coach,” Adam said, eyes darting to the man’s nose, which was now starting to swell.

"It sure does help to be able to defend yourself against the big bad wolves," the man said with a grin, and for the second time, Adam found that he really liked the way the man smiled. It made his heart flutter and his stomach flip in a way Beth's smile never did.

"You're not a big bad wolf."

The man's grin grew wider and he took a step closer to Adam, a hand falling heavy against his shoulder, thumb barely brushing the side of his neck. "Oh, I'm the biggest, and the baddest."

Adam froze under his touch, fighting the urge to pull away and push closer at the same time. The touch itself wasn't unwelcomed, although it should have been. This whole thing started because Adam had felt threatened, and this man just insisted that he was a big, bad, wolf. Which honestly made no sense to Adam, because he was clearly a man, and werewolves didn't really exist. Although, he was most likely making a reference to Little Red Riding Hood, but that did nothing to ease Adam's apprehensions either. The wolf was the antagonist in the story, and had sought to devour Red and her grandmother. Adam didn't like the idea of being devoured.

And yet.

The weight on his shoulder wasn't exactly threatening. In fact, nothing about the man was threatening, beside his initial paranoia of course. For someone with a bruised nose because a stranger decided to throw a left hook to his face, the man had been very gracious, and kind. He smiled a lot and engaged Adam in all his random tangents. He never once made Adam feel uncomfortable or mocked, and even took offense on Adam's behalf when he mentioned it.

"Were you going to attack me?"

"Was I going to what now?" The man asked, confusion overtaking his smile as he pulled his hand back and took a step backwards.

Adam's body shifted forward, instinctively chasing the man's touch before he caught himself and stopped. "Were you going to attack me, before, when I punched you?" He asked again, eyes dropping to the ground.

"What, no!" The man exclaimed, startling Adam and drawing his attention again. Letting out a shaky laugh, the man ran a hand through his hair and Adam found himself tracking that hand as ash blonde, silvery strands slipped through slender fingers. "I was trying to get past you because I was going to be late meeting Darko." The man paled, the hand running through his hair stopped abruptly and dropped limply to his side. "Oh fuck, Darko."

"Darko?"

"Yeah, my bitch ass partner." The man said pulling out another cigarette, burning through a good quarter of it in one nervous drag. "Motherfucker has been nagging me all night, and I was on my way to meet him when I ran into you, gorgeous."

"Oh," Adam breathed, chest tight and stomach dropping. Hot coils of jealousy wrapped around him, settling heavy in his chest. Adam stared back at the man, his focus on the ember tip of the cigarette as he tried to process his words.

_Partner._

What did it matter to him anyway, that this stranger was on his way to meet his partner. Why did the very thought of that make him want to lash out, to claim this man for his own? It shouldn't mean anything to him that this man had a _partner_ . Besides, partner, could mean practically anything. He could be referring to a business partner, or a dancing partner, or a sports partner, it didn't necessarily have to be a _romantic_ partner. And yet, the voice inside of Adam's head roared with uncontrollable jealousy.

Adam frowned, trying to reel in this unfounded emotion. It wasn't as if he was even attracted to men, at least he never had been in the past. He had never before been sexually excited by a man before, but there was something about _this_ man that made him want to grab at him and tear his clothes off while devouring his mouth, even if it would taste like cigarettes.

"You okay, darling?"

"I'm sorry I made you miss your meeting," Adam said swallowing down the bitter taste of jealousy. "Your partner is probably still waiting for you, and he's probably upset. I would be. It is an egregious waste of one's time, to be stood up with no explanation. My ex-girlfriend, Beth, stood me up once. Although she did call after an hour to inform me she couldn't make it."

"What is she, an idiot?"

"No, Beth is of average intelligence."

"Well she sounds like a massive idiot."

"How so?"

"Well for starters she dumped you."

"She didn't dump me," Adam protested, although he supposed in a way she did. "She was just probably scared. Of having to move across the country, of having to leave her family behind, I mean, I was scared too. But I guess it was different for me. Moving out here meant I got to work on the satellite guidance systems for the Hooker telescope, and well, Beth, she would have been stuck at home working on her book. Besides, I think she was worried about her father and still coming to terms with the fact that he was imprisoned not too long ago."

"So an idiot and a criminal," the man said with a scoff, which could also have been a chuckle, Adam wasn't sure, but he was grinning.

"No, I don't think you heard me right. Beth's not a criminal. Her father was the one who went to prison, not Beth. And it was for a white collar crime, embezzlement."

"You can never be so sure," the man said, the cigarette burning low, and Adam fought the urge to remind him again how terrible cigarettes were for the body. "You know what they say, the apple doesn't fall far from the tree."

“I don't understand why they say that. A lot can be argued for nature versus nurture, and even then, an offspring can certainly rebel against their upbringing, unlike an apple which has no free will, or any will for the matter. Apples aren't sentient beings, and therefore are genetically programed to be exactly like it's predecessor. Of course modifications can be made to the genetic code, to make it redder, or sweeter, or smaller or bigger. Humans on the other hand are shaped by not only the people around them but by their individual experiences.

The circumstances surrounding Beth's father's incarceration does not apply to Beth herself. She is neither an older male nor in the financial field. As such, she would not find herself having an affair with a younger woman and then use her position to cover up financial mistakes made by said woman. She was also very distraught over the fact that her previous boyfriend before me, had cheated on her, and therefore I don’t believe she would then in return cheat on a partner. In that regard, Beth is nothing like her father. They may have had a close relationship before the trial and the uncovering of these truths, but Beth is a good person."

"Is she now, darling?"

"Yes," Adam said with a firm nod. "She put up with my quirks and helped me practice for my interviews. She helped me learn to socialize in unfamiliar settings, and helped me find my apartment here."

The man frowned. He was displeased, that much Adam could tell. He liked that the man was very expressive with his face a. It made talking to him easier. Although it didn’t make deciphering his thoughts any easier, because for the life of him, Adam could not figure out _why_ the man was displeased.

“But then she left you?”

“Yes.”

“And you still think she’s a good person? None of those things you stated made her intrinsically _good._ She was fucking you, of course she’d help you with your interviews.”

“I don’t think Beth leaving makes her a _bad_ person. It was jaring and abrupt, and it would have been better if she hadn’t of done it the night before we were to leave, but I think she had her reasons.”

“Which were?”

“I don’t think she believed that I loved her.”

“Did you though?”

“I did,” Adam said softly, his voice wavering slightly. “But I hadn’t realized that I _needed_ to tell her, I had just always assumed she knew. Because I knew.”

“Because you knew what, gorgeous?”

“That I loved her. And that she loved me. She didn’t have to say anything, I just knew, because she was like a part of me.” Adam sighed, flexing his hand again, grounding himself in the pain. He hadn’t thought about Beth in months. Not since he made the decision to follow through with the move to California. He had been busy. Getting situated, meeting new people, forming a new routine. It had distracted him from that last conversation he had with Beth. Distracted him from the hurt.

“I needed her,” he said staring at the blood flaking on his knuckles, dried now with the passage of time.  “I needed her to ground me, to teach me things, to help me survive.” He rubbed at his hand, dislodging the dried blood before lifting his gaze back toward the man who he punched in the face. “But I think I’m okay now. These past few months have shown me that I am capable of all these things. That perhaps I didn’t _need_ her here with me as much as I wanted her here. But there’s no reason to tell her that now. We’ve moved on.”

“So you still love her?”

“Of course I do. I think a part of me will always love her. You don’t just stop loving someone.”

"I suppose you don't," the man said crushing the cigarette between his fingers. "Not even when they run off with American puffy fish-faced cocksuckers."

Adam’s eyes followed the movement of the man’s hands. He didn’t like the melancholy in his voice, it didn’t suit him, it felt wrong. “I’m sorry,” Adam found himself mumbling again, guilty for making the man miss his meeting. It seemed like his _partner,_ Darko, really wanted to patch things up if he was so insistent on meeting up.

“What ever for, gorgeous?”

“Well, you seem to still be in love with Darko, even though he ran off with, well, an American puffy fish-faced cocksucker, and he seemed like he was interested in patching things up if he was so insistent on meeting up with you again,” Adam paused, his eyes lifting to settle on the swelling of the man’s nose again. “And I, well I’m sorry for punching you in the face and making you miss your meeting.”

“I’m in love with who now?” The man exclaimed, looking torn between laughing and crying. “Do I look like a fag to you?”

“Do you look like a-” Adam frowned. He didn’t like that word, fag, even though he had never been called one, it was still derogatory, like retard, and that he had been called, and did not like. “I’m not entirely sure what a _fag_ is supposed to look like. I don’t usually make assumptions about a person’s sexuality, but as you have been referring to me as gorgeous this whole time, I’d can ony assume that you at the very least, find me attractive. And considering the fact that I am a man, because I am, in fact, a man, in case you thought otherwise, I suppose, yes?”

The man stared blankly back at Adam, blinking a few times before shaking his head with a chuckle and pulling out another cigarette.

“You really shouldn’t be smoking another cigarette,” Adam said crossing his arms across his chest. “You shouldn’t have smoked the first one, and definitely not the second one. Three inless than twenty minutes is a bit concerning.”

“Darling, please. You must let me have this one,” the man said exhaling heavily before turning his attention back to Adam. “I’m having a bit of a sexualtiy crisis here as I just found out that I might be a bit of a fag.”

Adam nodded, fighting back the urge to point out that a sexuality crisis was no reason to disregard one's health, but the man had previously made it perfectly clear that he was rather unconcerned about his health. A shame really, as Adam found that he would like it very much if this man didn’t die any time soon, and lived to be a ripe old age. Preferably here, in Flintridge, where Adam could find him easily and converse with him again. Of all the people he's met in life, this beautiful stranger was by far the best. He not only made Adam feel normal, but also good about himself.

“Nenorocitule*!” A man yelled from down the block, picking up his pace when the stranger turned to face the newcomer. “What the actual fuck, Nigel?” The newcomer, who Adam could only assume was Darko, continued to yell as he closed the distance between them. “Stop fucking chasing tail, the Russians will be here any minute now and you said- WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED TO YOUR FACE?”

Adam flinched at the sudden increase in volume, thumb flicking idly at his index and middle fingers. “I’m sorry,” he offered, “I accidentally punched him.”

“You accidentally-” Darko’s eyes shifted from his friend’s swollen nose to Adam, appraising him silently before pulling out a cigarette and grinned. “Just give his cock a quick fuck with your mouth and call it an apology so we can move the fuck on.”

“I don’t think your friend would appreciate that,” Adam said with a frown as the man choked on his third, and honestly, still unnecessary, cigarette.

“Nigel?” Darko said with a laugh, “Nigel would fucking kill to get that pretty mouth of yours wrapped around his cock.”

“Oh.” Adam glanced between the two men, who were now glaring at each other. He could give the man, Nigel, a blowjob, although he wasn’t sure he’d be very good at it. He’s had the act performed on him a few times, but he never really understood the appeal of it. “I’ve never given anyone a blowjob before, so I don’t think I’d be very good at it. The few I’ve received weren’t very good, and I don’t believe I’ve ever achieved orgasm while having the act performed on me. If I have to perform a sexual favor in return for an apology I’d prefer anal penetration. Although I’ve never been with an actual man before, I do enjoy prostate stimulation and have been pegged by previous partners. I think that I would very much so enjoy penetration with an actual penis.”

Adam was met with silence. The two men stood gaping at him with wide eyes and open mouths, cigarettes hanging limply from their fingertips, threatening to fall to the ground. He frowned. Brows furrowing as he replayed his words and attempted to figure out what it was he had said wrong.

“We don’t have to,” Adam offered, when Darko suddenly burst out laughing. “If you prefer a blowjob, I could certainly try. I’m not adverse to trying.”

“No, no, that’s quite alright, darling,” Nigel said, shaking himself out of his stupor. “You could just buy me a coffee tomorrow and we can call it even.”

“Coffee?”

“Yes, coffee.”

“Oh, okay.” Coffee. Adam could do coffee. There was a good cafe not too far from here, Constellation Coffee. He first went because of the name and the proximity to his apartment, but he liked the atmosphere there, and the people. The baristas were very nice, and he’d discussed M-Brane theory with Lee once while waiting on his drip coffee. “Does nine work for you? Constellation Coffee on Foothill Boulevard?”

“Wonderful, perfect. He’ll see you there tomorrow,” Darko said, still laughing, and gave Adam a friendly pat on the back. “I like you. Now, you,” he said, turning his attention to Nigel, “nenorocitule, let’s go. Russians are waiting.”

Adam watched as Nigel was dragged away by his still laughing, not romantic and most likely business partner, Darko. He flexed his hand again, just to feel the sting and reassure himself that this was real. That he had just punched a man in the face and offered to have anal sex with him as an apology but instead settled for plans for a coffee date tomorrow.

The people of Flintridge, California were certainly strange, not that he was one to judge nor was he complaining. As he continued to make his way home, he decided that should probably call Harlan and thank him for making him go to those boxing lessons, perhaps even get Nick a gift basket or something if Nigel doesn’t do it first.

**Author's Note:**

>  ***** Nenorocitule = motherfucker
> 
> One month later
> 
> Adam stared at his phone. It wasn't unusual that it was ringing, people call him. Like Harlan. And occasionally Carol from work. Brian usually texted, he understood Adam's aversion to phone calls, although he honestly hated text messages more than phone calls. Which is why he was now staring suspiciously at his phone. He didn't recognize the number, but it was a New York City number, which made it even more curious.
> 
> "Are you going to answer that, gorgeous?"
> 
> Adam looked from the phone to Nigel, who was relaxing beside him on the couch. "I don't know the number."
> 
> "Just pick up the phone, darling."
> 
> Giving the phone one last apprehensive glance, Adam swiped up. "Hello?"
> 
> _"Adam Raki?"_
> 
> "Speaking, who is this?"
> 
> _"Oh, hey! It's Nick, Nick Scanlon from Gotham Gym. I got your gift basket today, and just wanted to say thanks! I'm glad the boxing lessons worked out for you."_
> 
> “Oh, I didn’t send you a basket,” Adam said, shifting his position so that he could lean against Nigel, who accommodated him by draping an arm around him and idly ran his fingers through his hair. “It was probably Nigel, I punched him in the face with what was apparently a gorgeous left hook.”


End file.
